


Obcisor Mask

by Novastargeek



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: 13 Days of Halloween Writing Challenge, Blood and Injury, Delusions, Gen, Horror, Masks, Minor Swearing, allstories, mazes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novastargeek/pseuds/Novastargeek
Summary: Mikey finds a strange mask while looking for costume pieces his Halloween costume this year.That's where things start heading south.A short fic in three parts written for sampsonknight's 13 Days of Halloween Challenge, using the prompts Costumes/Masks, Seeing Things/Delusions, and Mazes.Rated T for descriptions of serious blood/injury, potentially disturbing imagery and minor use of swear words.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. The Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and Salutations!
> 
> Fun fact about me: I'm not the biggest fan of horror, or scary stuff in general.
> 
> However, I decided I wanted to challenge myself by not only reading/watching some more horror stuff this year, but also by giving writing something for the genre a try.
> 
> The 13 days challenge seemed like the perfect way to do just that.
> 
> So, here goes nothing!
> 
> TMNT belongs to Nick, the story belongs to me.
> 
> The promts and other fics for this challenge can be found at [sampsonknight's DeviantArt page](https://www.deviantart.com/sampsonknight/journal/TMNT-13-Days-of-Halloween-2020-853672548) or on the  
> [tmnt-allstories](https://tmnt-allstories.tumblr.com/) tumblr page.
> 
> Without further ado, onto the story!

“What about this?” Donnie asks, holding up an old white wig. The hair sticks out every which way and definitely matches the mad scientist vibe he always seems to have going on.

In other words, it's _perfect_.

But I’m not about to _tell_ him that.

I hum as if thinking of an answer.

“It’s okay,” I start, “but I don’t really think it has that _wow_ factor, y’know?”

“Don’t listen to Mikey,” Raph says, glancing up from the box he is searching in, a set of vampire teeth in his hand. “I think it fits. You already have the laugh down, with the hair you’d be the full package.”

Donnie looks like he is either about to burst out laughing or verbally pound Raph into next week.

I would find either option highly entertaining.

“Just don’t break anything, alright?” Leo sighs in resignation from the corner. “The O’Neils were nice enough to let us look through their boxes of old costumes, let’s be kind enough to not trash their apartment while they're away.”

“Ok, mom,” Raph says. Leo lets out a very undignified sound before pointedly going back to his searching, intent on ignoring us as best as he could.

I look at the very large pile of costume pieces I’ve acquired. So far, I think my best two options are either an Alienoid Santa Clause or pizza werewolf. While both ideas are _good_ , neither one is screaming at me that it's the one, y’know?

I rummage around in a new box, pulling out a pair of alien antennas, a red clown nose, and a roll of caution tape. I should be able to make something out of this, right?

Wait, I got it!

An alien police mummy clown!

Super scary _and_ it’s gonna knock the socks off my brothers!

If we wore socks, that is.

I _do_ have a pretty gnarly sock collection though, if I do say so myself!

I start to gather my haul when a flash of white catches my eye. I walk over to a relatively full box, one that has somehow been missed in all of our rummaging.

Sitting at the top of the box is a mask, purely white, except for the red marks running down from the eye-holes like tears, and a large, black smile that looks like it’s been colored on in crayon. A large, black “x” covers each eye-hole, reminiscent of a dead cartoon character.

I pick it up, and am surprised to find it’s made out of very well-sanded wood. With how smooth it is I thought it would have been made out of plastic. The details—barring the “x” over the eye-holes—are simply painted on. I flip it over and see a word engraved on the back where my forehead would rest against the mask.

_Obcisor._

“Ob, ob, obkeesore!” I stubble over the pronunciation of the word.

“What was that?” Raph asks, annoyance coating his voice. Probably still hasn’t found anything halfway decent for his costume this year.

“I dunno, it was on the back of the mask.”

“Hold on let me see that,” Donnie pipes up. He walks over, looking over my shoulder at the engraving. “ _Obcisor_ , Mikey. It’s pronounced ob-SIZE-or It’s Latin for killer. It’s probably either the last name of the creator of the mask or some kind of cruel joke or something. Whoever made it probably wanted to scare us into thinking it was cursed or something.”

Huh.

A shudder runs through me. Well, a _potentially,_ but _probably_ not at all cursed mask is certainly scary enough to be added to my pile of costume pieces.

Wait, I can use this as my clown face instead of the red nose!

My brothers return to looking through boxes, and that’s when Dr. Prankenstien comes up with a simple yet _genius_ idea.

I slip the mask on with a large grin—the mask is surprisingly comfortable, by the way—sneaking up behind Raph, who is thoroughly engrossed in trying to find something or other for his probably lame costume idea.

I tap him on the carapace. He turns around, and I yell BOO! as loud as I can.

The very unmanly shriek he lets out is pure gold.

I start laughing, pleased when Donnie joins in and Leo lets out a small chuckle.

“MIKEY!” Raph roars as I run away, still laughing.

Just for Raph, I decide to make the mask an official part of my costume.

And it stays on my face the rest of night.


	2. Through the Eye-Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey starts seeing things.
> 
> Specifically, he starts seeing blood.
> 
> Blood that isn't his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and Salutations!
> 
> Welcome to part two of my attempt at horror, using the prompt seeing things/delusions. As I am still learning about how to write the genre, any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos I have received so far, they made my week!
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> As always, I do not own TMNT, that privilege belongs to Nick.
> 
> Onto the story!

The first time happens a whole three hours after my last epic prank (a water balloon to Leo’s face, in case you were wondering), and a day since we went costume hunting at the O’Neil’s. The spooky mask has quickly become my new favorite prank item, as it works _amazing_ for scaring the shell off my brothers. The results of a good mask scare _always_ send me and any nearby brothers into fits of laughter.

I’ve gotten each brother—and myself—at least twice already.

And I’m about to get Raph a forth time.

“BOO!” I yell as I sneak up on my brother. 

I watch him turn around and scream.

I almost let out a scream of my own.

His skull is bashed in. Blood is dripping from the open wound into his eyes, and he is _screaming_ in some twisted combination of pain and horror that twists and echoes off the lair walls.

I rip the mask off my face.

I blink.

The illusion shatters and replaces itself with my completely-fine-but-now-very-enraged brother.

“MIKEY!” he roars even as I start sprinting away, the image quickly forgotten.

An angry Raph is far more terrifying than some silly illusion anyway.

~*>|<*~

I'm chopping up an onion for dinner, to throw on the half-finished pizza that is sitting on the edge of the counter.

 _Crunch_ THUNK. _Crunch_ THUNK. _Crunch_ THUNK.

I move my knife in a steady rhythm, keeping the chunks as close to the same size as possible so they’ll cook evenly. A satisfying crunch accompanies each thunk of the knife against the cutting board.

It’s music to my chef’s ears.

I start humming a tune from a video game I had been playing earlier as I work.

 _Crunch_ THUNK. _Crunch_ THUNK. _Squelch_ THUNK.

As I move the knife away, a finger separates from the hand it is attached to. Blood spurts from the open wound, coating both the board and my hands in the crimson liquid. A cry of pain screams in my eardrums.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to I’m so sorry,” I fervently apologize.

I blink rapidly as my eyes well with tears.

Wasn’t I just cutting up an onion?

Then why-

My hands move to rip off my mask and force the illusion to shatter just like every other hallucination over the past three days.

The knife clatters onto the floor.

It misses my foot by fractions of an inch.

The mask doesn’t go flying into the wall because it isn’t on my face.

 _I’m not_ _wearing my mask_.

I stare at the onion, my clean and definitively not blood-coated hands gripping the wooden board tight. I’m breathing too fast, too heavy.

This is the sixth time it happens.

But it's the first time I'm not wearing the mask when it does.

~*>|<*~

I’m in the bathroom, staring at my red-coated hands, with no _clue_ as to how I arrived here.

I _was_ reading a comic book in my bedroom, laughing at the over-dramatized death of one screaming lady at the hands of some monster straight out of a B-horror film, and then…

Then I was here.

In the bathroom.

My hands coated in a sticky red liquid which I can only assume was blood.

I hadn’t hurt myself-I would definitely feel the pain if it was-so the blood couldn’t be mine, which meant that this _has_ to be another illusion.

The thirteenth, in fact.

In five days.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

The crossed-out eyes stare back at me.

I don't even remember putting the mask _on._

I rip it off my face. Red fingerprints stand out against the white of the mask where my fingers had gripped it to pull it off.

I blink rapidly, willing the illusion to go away.

If it worked before, it had to work now, right?

Right?

..

_Right?_

A metallic scent burns my nostrils. I turn on the sink, scrubbing furiously at the every inch of crimson on my hands. The water turns pink as it runs down the drain.

And so does my vain hope that this is an illusion.

This isn’t an illusion.

THIS ISN’T AN ILLUSION.

My scrubbing becomes more frantic.

And the blood that washes down the drain isn't mine.

~*>|<*~

I’m in the sewers, on the hunt for a new skateboarding tunnel.

The mask is looped around my belt, as lately I had felt really antsy and kinda sick when it wasn’t within reach.

Though Donnie had insisted that while I carry it around, I keep the front of the mask shielded from view.

Which, lately, is something I am in full agreement with.

The creepy, lifeless stare has been haunting my nightmares all week.

Joyful whistling echoes off the sewers walls, but I'm not the one making the sound. It’s probably just a maintenance worker, doing, whatever it is maintenance workers do in the sewers.

Donnie would probably know.

Anyways, I know I should just leave them to their work. They do keep our home in good working order.

Not to mention that mutant turtle plus paranoid human has _never_ been a winning combination in the past.

And that Leo would lecture me _again_ for risking our cover.

I definitely do _not_ need another lecture from my blue-banded brother.

I start to head in the opposite direction, toward an older, more likely abandoned part of the sewers.

My body has other ideas and begins moving _towards_ the sound.

I feel myself slip the mask off my belt and onto my face, which is definitely _not_ the skateboard I mean to grab so I can skate away _without_ bothering the nice sewer worker.

I try to force myself to turn around but my body, just, isn’t, _listening_ to me!

At least the mask is comfortable.

All too soon, the sewer worker—a middle aged woman with her blonde hair tied up in a loose ponytail—comes into view.

Silently, my hands grab my nunchaku, the normally familiar weight feeling like lead as I realize what I am about to do.

I try to scream, to warn her, say _anything_ , but my vocal cords refuse to cooperate. I’m a spectator in my own body as a resounding, ~~satisfying~~ horrifying crack echoes off the tunnel walls and she collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

I’m forced to stare at the red-coated scene, where her white skull pokes through the side of her head, brains and blood mixing with the small trickle water running through the sewers.

While my mind reels in ~~happiness~~ horror at what I had just done, my body disappears as silently as it had arrived.

~*>|<*~

With all of the murderers happening in the sewers lately, Leo understandably doesn’t want anybody heading through the tunnels—or topside—alone. In four days, twelve maintenance workers have turned up dead.

They have no idea what’s out there, and until they do good ol’ Leo is forcing us to use the buddy system.

_Fantastic._

On top of that, he’s also decided it’s a _great_ idea to try and _hunt_ for the _maniac_ that’s doing such a _terrible_ thing.

So there’s no _possible_ way I can sneak away to prep the _ultimate_ prank, the ultimate _scare_ for my brothers this fine Halloween.

Oh well.

Plans have never been my style anyway.

We split into two teams to start the search. Me and Leo are one team, and Raph and Donnie are the other.

We go left, while the other two head right. I fill the space with empty chatter about comic books and video games and pizza, more to keep my “fearless leader” occupied than that I actually have anything to talk about. I allow fantasies dripping with red and filled with the merry loud cracks of my nunchaku meeting their target to keep me entertained, to keep an easy smile on my face, and keep my brother distracted long enough for me to execute the most awesome prank anyone has ever seen.

Leo not-so-gently reminds me that we were looking for a murderer who uses physical weapons instead of verbal ones.

I quiet with an eye-roll and sink a few paces behind, slipping on my red-tinged mask as I do so.

I grab my weapon, careful to keep the chains from rattling.

I tap Leo on the shoulder, and he turns around in annoyance before he lets out an unholy, girlish scream.

“Boo,” I say as I introduce his skull to my nunchaku, watching in fascination as the hard, blunt object effortlessly tears through leathery green skin and cracks open smooth, white bone to reveal a squishy, pink brain that wastes no time pouring out from the hole with an ocean's worth of blood.

He drops like a rag-doll.

His wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression makes me wish I had a camera.

This is the best prank I’ve pulled in a long, long time.


	3. Lost in a Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raph and Donnie try to find the murder on the loose in the maze that is the NYC sewer system.
> 
> It doesn't go so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> It's a little late, but I finished it! This is the final chapter in my first attempt at something in the horror genre, using the prompt mazes. This was a lot more fun to write than I was expecting, so I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kudos I have received, and for checking this story out. It really does mean a lot to me!
> 
> As always, Nick owns TMNT, and I... don't.
> 
> Onto the story!

I have no idea where Donnie is.

I lost him almost an hour ago when he mumbled something about his weird scanner reading getting stronger and just, bolted off. I tried to follow him, but I lost him as he wove his way throughout the maze that is the NYC sewer system.

I dial Don’s number again, just about ready to throw my phone against the wall when I get his voicemail _again_. I hang up without leaving another message. He’s probably just got so caught up in his scientific mumbo jumbo that he tuned out the world so he can focus on his work.

I’m tempted to call Mikey and Leo, but I don’t want to admit that I’ve lost my brother in the sewers I _supposedly_ know like the back of my hand.

But it's not _my_ fault Donnie wanted to check the old, decrepit, will-probably-fall-on us any minute part of the sewers we were explicitly told to avoid by said genius because he "got a reading".

Hopefully the other two are having better luck than we are.

A loud scream echoes off the sewer wall before abruptly cutting off.

My heart clenches and turns to ice.

I know Donnie’s scream anywhere.

I rush in the direction I heard his scream, cursing loudly when I run into a dead end with no Donnie. I run back out, hoping, _praying_ I’m getting closer to my brother and that he’s okay.

Hopefully it’s just a prank by some no good punk kids.

Hopefully.

I curse when I run into another set of wood boards marking another dead end.

Still no Donnie.

I run into two more dead ends before I decide to risk calling the brainiac’s cell again.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up,” I mutter as I wait for my phone to connect to Don’s.

The happy little ringtone Mikey had picked for our phones quietly sounds through the tunnel. I follow it, relief flooding through me. I’m close.

“Donnie, thank goodness you’re,” I trail off as I round the corner.

My brother is definitely _not_ okay.

I collapse next to him. He’s lying motionless on the ground. His skull is bashed in on the right side, blood still sluggishly dripping from the mangled mess of green flesh and bone into his wide open, glassy eyes. His expression is frozen in a terrified scream that he will never finish.

My heart sinks even as I check his pulse.

There is none.

My brother is dead.

Looking just like all the other victims that maniac on the news killed.

I feel a few tears escape and mix into the murky sewer water. A sob breaks out before I can stop it as I clutch my brother tight, closing his eyes so it appears that he’s merely sleeping.

Just sleeping, not..

Dead.

I feel a wave of rage, no, _hatred_ wash over me at one responsible for all of this.

I can mourn the loss of my brother later. The killer is probably still nearby, and I need to find Leo and Mikey to let them know...

I sling Donnie over my shell, and start off to find my brothers.

When we find that murderer, they are going to have _hell_ to pay.

~*>|<*~

I wander the concrete tunnels, every creak, every hiss of the pipes and gurgle of water setting me more and more on edge. In my rush to find Donnie, I've ended up far deeper into the abandoned sewers than either me or Donnie intended to. I’ve called Mikey and Leo at least a dozen times by now with no response, leading me to believe they might be hot on the trail of the murder and don’t want to risk being discovered. I tried tracking their phones, but the connection this far into the sewers is spotty at best, and the only one who could fix the tracking system to get a better lock on them is a cold corpse on my shell.

In other words, I’m hopelessly, utterly lost.

And alone.

I take left, another right, a right again-and is it straight or right at the fork?

I go right and sigh as I reach _another_ dead end. I feel just about ready to find the nearest manhole cover, escape to some alleyway and beat up every gang member who even _thinks_ about crossing my path.

If I could _find_ the nearest manhole cover, that is.

I turn around, and decide to go straight instead of right this time, giving a groan when I rediscover the indent I had left in the wall when I had punched it in frustration at twenty minutes ago.

Now I’m going in circles, still lost, and _still_ with no word from either of my two still-breathing brothers.

I shift Don’s weight across my shell, struggling to remember whether it was the center or left tunnel I had taken last time that caused me to loop.

Donnie would know.

Too bad he’s dead.

A loud _CRACK_ followed by a scream coming from the center tunnel causes me to jump and I sprint into the left tunnel, away from the sound.

I’m so focused on getting away from the noise that I don’t even notice the large object lying in the meager stream of sewer sludge until I stumble over it and fall face first into the water. Donnie tumbles after me with a graceless flop and a small splash.

I glance back, ready to give the offending object a piece of my mind when I freeze for the second time that day.

I had tripped over our fearless leader.

Whose final expression says that the moment he died, he was anything _but_.

I my heart shatters for the second time that night.

His skull is also sporting a giant hole, same as Donnie, glassy eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. Blood mixes with the sewer water below and coats the air in a heavy, sickening metallic scent. I close his eyes as I check his nonexistent pulse.

I refuse to cry until the _bastard_ who did this is an unrecognizable mess six feet under the lowest possible sewer drain I can find.

I hear a series of small splashes—footsteps—and pull my sai out, ready for a fight.

I’m beyond relieved to find my little brother holding his nunchaku, hands and weapon covered in red seemingly ok.

I hope he had the pleasure of giving that murder a taste of his own medicine.

“MIKEY!” I yell, running in for a rare hug. “I’m so glad you're alive, because our brothers are, are..”

I trail off and pull away as I realize he had yet to return the hug.

And that he is wearing that dumb mask he’d been pranking us with all week.

“I’m really not in the mood for this right now little brother,” I say. “Take the mask off. Please.”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear me.

“Mikey, please. Say something. Anything.”

He continues to stand there, silent and still as a statue.

“What’s wrong with you?!” I scream. “Our brother’s are both fucking _dead_ and your reaction is to just, stand there quietly? You can’t be this still and silent to save your life. C’mon Michelangelo, answer me!”

I take in several deep breaths, wincing as the the copper smell of blood mixes with the disgusting tang of sewer sludge. I stare at his nunchaku, and see dried blood holding bits of green and white to the surface of the weapon and Mikey’s hands.

It clicks.

“Mikey?” I ask softly. I receive no answer from my normally talkative brother. “Why, why are your hands covered in blood?”

I take a few steps back and he takes a few forward. The black “X” eyes stare lifelessly back at me, obscuring whatever emotion he might have had in his white, pupiless eyes from view. The wide, black painted smile is a cruel mockery of the sunshine-filled one that often adorns my baby brother's face. Red tear tracks-blood tracks-streak down that face, as though he’s sad this game has to end so soon.

I freeze, unable to move as he advances towards me, raising his nunchaku high.

A sudden sharp pain and I’m on the ground. With bleary eyes I see Mikey rip the mask off his face and chuck it towards the ground as he realizes what he’s done. The mask lands in front of my eyes, it’s smooth, bloodstained white back facing me.

With my last conscious breath, I stare at the word engraved on the back.

_Obcisor._

Donnie said it meant _killer_.

Guess it’s not a joke after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The mask image is an original work created by the author of this fic.


End file.
